


Making Friends, Military Style

by Ohrwurm



Series: Imperial Shenanigans [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Other, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohrwurm/pseuds/Ohrwurm
Summary: Newly transferred to the Executor, Captain Piett gets more than he bargained for when he suddenly finds himself in a war-like rivalry between the Army and the Navy troops on the ship. Darth Vader breathing down his neck doesn’t really help. And then there’s this Army General complicating things…This is a story about how Piett met Veers! Ozzel is a jerk as usual, Veers is sympathetic and Piettreally, reallyneeds more alcohol.And Lord Vader is… well, Lord Vader.
Relationships: Firmus Piett & Maximilian Veers, Firmus Piett & Original Character(s), Firmus Piett/Maximilian Veers, if you squint
Series: Imperial Shenanigans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122875
Comments: 26
Kudos: 103





	1. He That Dies Pays All Debts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real fanfiction about our most loved Imperials, Piett and Veers, and how they came to be friends.  
> Will be updated weekly!  
> I'm not a native speaker, so I apologize in advance for any inconveniences. Have fun and feel free to leave a comment!
> 
> And as always: All gramatical errors/ spelling mistakes are mine, mine, mine and mine alone.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the ISD Executor was soundlessly gliding through space.

The dark exterior of the battleship glinted as it made its way forward, its shiny surface reflecting the rays of the nearest stars. With a length of 19.000 meters, more than 5.000 turbolasers plus ion cannons and thirteen thrusters, the ship was the largest star destroyer ever build. 

The Executor - also known as _the Lady_ by her faithful crewmen - was truly a sight to behold. There was no star destroyer more powerful, more dominating, in the known universe. The wet dream of every navy officer, if one was inclined to think that way. 

Serving on the Lady was not only a privilege, it was an honour.

Unfortunately, there was also a rather huge downside about serving on the Empire's most admired super star destroyer.  
As befitting a Lady of her status, the Executor was commandeered by no one less than a Lord. Her master was no one else as Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, second in command to the Emperor and Heir to the Imperial throne, which rather complicated things.

On the bridge of Lady, Firmus Piett, Captain first rank of the Imperial Navy, gloomily stared out of the windows in contemplation.

He had only been transferred to the Executor three months ago. 

It hadn’t been the first time a transfer order to the Executor had popped up in his mailbox. All those years before, Piett had luckily – and quite skilfully – managed to avoid serving aboard the Lady by requesting transfers of his own within the other star destroyers of Death Squadron.  
Just right on time, so the orders to serve on Lord Vader’s flagship had always been cancelled out by his own transfer requests.

But three month ago, his luck had run out. Unprepared for yet another transfer order to serve aboard the Executor, Piett hadn’t succeeded to reverse the request.

And now, here he was. Pitying himself like a bloody cadet. 

_I’m sorry, Lady_ , Piett thought, fondly patting the wall of the big ship. _No offense._

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to serve as captain of the Lady. He felt immensely honoured, but also constantly on edge. Within the first two weeks of his service, he unfortunately had been right on duty when Lord Vader had decided to execute Communications Officer Reinold for a minor mistake. The agonised, contorted face of the poor man still haunted his dreams every once in a while.

First Lieutenant Venka had even told him these _incidents_ , as he called them, happened so often that the Human Resources department had taken to giving them their own informal code name:

 **De.b.t.s.** – **De** ath **b** y **t** remendous **s** trangulation. 

A rather bad show of morbid humour, Piett found.  
But also, quite true. Normal debts, you could pay back. But not with the Dark Lord.

One day, Piett had decided to read the file of his own predecessor. He had found two notes at the end of the document:

_STATUS: Deceased.  
CAUSE OF DEATH: De.b.t.s by Lord Vader_

His daily ratio of caf intake had promptly doubled since then. Fortunately, the former Captain had also left behind a fairly large variety of strong alcoholic beverages.

Piett grimaced inwardly. Being the Captain of the Executor and thus one of the highest-ranking officers on board had brought him closer to Lord Vader’s attention than he liked. And, if he wouldn’t be careful, his own demise.

Shaking off his thoughts, Piett concentrated again on the present tasks at hand. Slacking off was a definite No-Go with the Sith Lord breathing down the crew’s neck. 

Out of the corner of his eye, the captain saw one of the Lieutenants making his way over to him with a datapad.  
“What is it?”, he asked.

“Sir”, the man hesitated, “these are the plans for the army drills in hangar forty-five and forty-six.”

Piett made a sound of dissatisfaction. “Every plan for changes within the hangars has to be signed by the Admiral, not the Captain. I’m not sure why you’re bringing this to _my_ attention, not Admiral Ozzel’s.”

The man squirmed under Piett’s firm gaze. “My apologies, Captain. It’s just... I tried to get the Admiral to sign it one week ago, but he didn’t have time for it, Sir. And the Army’s really pressing and asking non-stop for their confirmed drills, Sir.”

Upon hearing that, Piett couldn’t help himself but shoot a glance to where the Admiral was currently standing on the bridge.  
Ozzel was… an idiot, simply put. A pure core-worlder to the boot, Ozzel’s opinions about everyone and everything were purely based on how far off from the core worlds they were born and on how high their political status was.

When Venka had been in a particularly foul mood after another one of the Admiral’s egocentric speeches, he had told Piett in no uncertain termes that Ozzel’s position as Admiral was only due to his personal connections with the higher-ups, not due to skill. As far as Piett could judge someone he’d only met three months ago, he was inclined to agree with his colleague. 

Ozzel was an arrogant son of a hutt, as far as he was concerned. Claiming how naïve and of simple nature off-worlders were, boasting about his supposed brilliance and talking down others in one go.

It didn’t help at all that Piett was from Axxila. His home planet was situated deep in the Outer Rim, not even close to the Admiral’s beloved core worlds. 

As a result of that, Piett was constantly treated with contempt and barely hidden disregard by Ozzel, no matter how hard he tried or how perfectly he served. Being one of the Admiral’s direct subordinates, Piett had no chance in evading the hassle Ozzel seemed to throw his way on every occasion.

The Admiral’s arrogance and constant looking down at “lesser” individuals had also driven quite a rift between the Navy and the Army troops aboard the Lady, as Venka had informed him back then. 

Apparently, Ozzel and his entourage of other high-strung idiots deemed the navy officers as far superior than their army counterparts, sneering at them for being _dirtpounders_ and men who did the simple, dirty foot work.  
Naturally, said infantry troops weren’t happy about such comments, which only served to deepen the rivalry between the Army and the Navy.  
It was a cause for concern. Good-natured rivalry between the two groups was only normal on every star destroyer, but Piett had never witnessed such a tension like on the Executor.

But as long as everyone acted with full efficiency, Lord Vader didn’t seem to be bothered by that. Until then, Ozzel had free reign.  
Hopefully, the man would make a grave mistake and bite the dust soon.

Resolving to do better than his superior, Piett accepted the datapad, which contained the hangar changes needed for the drills, with resignation. “Leave it to me, Lieutenant”, he said. “I will personally place the hangar plans on the Admiral’s to-do-list.”

With a nod of thanks, the man scurried away.

Piett gave the datapad a glare. Ozzel would do his duty. He would make sure of it.


	2. Sleep? Don't know her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With things escalating rather quickly, Captain Piett has to deal with an unfortunate situation on the bridge.

_Captain Firmus Piett’s quarters, Executor, two days later_

With a curse muffled by the pillow, Piett blindly pated around for his alarm clock, trying in vain to turn it off. He’d only fallen into bed five hours ago. The Executor had been sent to pacify an unrest on one of the mining colonies the day before, which had sadly impacted nearly all of his time off duty. 

_Ring, ring, ring._

Groaning, the Captain finally succeeded in snatching the damn thing and hitting the off-button. He blinked, then forced himself to sit up. Time for another round of jolly activities with Ozzel. Or Lord Vader, depending on the Sith Lord’s mood.

Only half awake, Piett padded into the fresher and started his morning routine. Showering first, then shaving and brushing his teeth. As he absently-minded stared into the mirror, his own tired reflection stared back at him. 

No wonder Venka had given him that concerned look last day. Even his eyebags had eyebags.  
Shrugging in annoyance, Piett put on his neatly folded uniform, combed his hair back and put on his cap.  
Sleep was for the weak. Duty was not.

On his way to the bridge, the Captain snatched himself a cup of caf and a sandwich. After a few sips, he could feel the strong caffeine seeping into his tired body, forcefully jolting him awake. Caf. Caf was great. Sometimes, he felt it was the only thing that kept him going. And sane, after all those "incidents" on the bridge. 

Switching to his sandwich, the Captain let out a sigh. On a normal day, Piett religiously had a nice breakfast in the Officer’s lounge, but today there was simply no time. He was already two minutes late, thanks to his lack of sleep, and didn’t want to give Ozzel yet another reason to target his moods on him.

While he was nibbling on his food, he quickly checked his datapad for the newest updates and reports.

And nearly dropped it in surprise.

As the Lady’s Captain, he could not only see his chores, but also the Admiral’s, as Ozzel had him do most of the tasks. And on the top of the list, marked in an urgent red, were the hangar plans for the army drills. Still pending.

With a frown, Piett checked to see the status of the inquiry. His frown deepened.  
Ozzel hadn’t even read the plans. Let alone signed them.

With growing unease, Piett scrolled down to search on which day the exercise was supposed to take place. 

Tomorrow. 

Stifling a curse, the Captain drained the rest of his caf and quickened his pace. The _Thundering Herd_ , the troopers the drill exercises were for, would be furious. Complaints would follow. New tensions arise. In turn, Ozzel would be furious. And as a result of the formers, probably even Lord Vader. _Oh dear._

When he finally reached the bridge, disaster was already unfolding itself.

At first sight, he could see Venka unsuccessfully trying to stop a well-built man in an Army uniform charging towards the Admiral. The man seemed rage personified. And not overly impressed with Venka’s attempts because he just bodily ramed his shoulder into the other's side and kept going.

Hurriedly, Piett tried to catch up with him, decided on doing damage control. Thankfully, Lord Vader was nowhere in sight.

“Commander Khartov!”, he shouted, tone friendly yet firm. When the bulky man stopped his onslaught in a moment of surprise at the new voice, Piett took the chance to unobtrusively slide in the line of sight between the man and the Admiral.  
He could see Venka shooting him a grateful look.

“Commander Khartov”, he repeated placatingly, like one would talk to a wounded animal, “may I ask what brings you to the bridge? Can we help you?”

The Army man slowly cast an icy glare from Piett to Venka, before apparently deciding that Piett was the major threat. Or the more important man. Piett sincerely hoped for the latter.

“Help me?”, the man bristled. “Sure you can, Captain!” An accusing finger was stabbed in his direction. “I’m here to ask why the kriff the plans for our battle exercises aren’t signed yet. We submitted them four weeks ago! Four weeks!”

Piett deliberately took a second to breathe in and out. As far as he’d heard, Khartov was an experienced and well-respected commander. He got things done. The older man was just… very direct.

He tried again. “I understand your anger, Commander. Let me assure you, we…”

Khartov interrupted him with a harsh snarl. “I don’t care about paperwork, Captain. Can you even imagine how pissed General Veers is that the Thundering Herd won’t be able to perform tomorrow? We spend a month planning those drills!”

General Maximillian _Iron Max_ Veers. That name definitely rang a bell.  
Piett had only met the famous General in person twice, in meetings. One had been attended by Lord Vader himself, so there had been no discourteousness that day, but the other one had mostly consisted of Ozzel shouting something and the General growling back retorts in barely suppressed anger. 

It would had been quite impressive, if it hadn’t been a cause for concern and a threat for bodily harm.  
Tall, well-built and with a deadly stare that could probably fell a Wookie, General Veers had wielded authority like a well-honed blade. He was said to be strict, but fair, and to have the unlimited loyalty of his troops. A model soldier. And a guy who could probably snap an enemy’s spine in half with his bare hands.

Back that day, Veers had risen right up on Piett’s mental _People-Better-Not-To-Cross_ -list.

And now said man was probably very pissed. 

Sending a quick prayer to whoever deity willing to listen, Piett held up his hands in a soothing gesture. But before he could diffuse the tension any further, he felt Venka suddenly stiffening beside him. Not without reason – Admiral Ozzel seemed to have finally noticed the commotion and was making a beeline towards them. Luck really wasn't on his side today.

“What is going on here?”, the Admiral demanded, throwing the trio a suspicious glance.

Before Khartov was able to open his mouth, Piett quickly intervened. “The Commander was asking about the delay on the hangar plans they sent you to sign, Sir.” _And which I personally placed at the top of your to-do-list, you incompetent prat._

“And?”, the Admiral asked in a bored tone.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Piett could see Venka giving the already furious commander a quick jab to the ribs to keep the man from lashing out.

“And – “, Piett ventured on, in a frantic try to stop any further escalation, “– I think, Sir, it may not be too late to remedy the situation. If you would read and sign the documents now, there would still be some time to talk to the hangar master in order to rearrange the training grounds for the exercises.”

The Admiral only sneered in response. “Now? You can’t be serious, Piett. I can’t just spend my valuable time on random whims.”

“But, Sir -”

Ozzel gave him a devious look. “But, what, man?”, he hissed. A sudden victorious smile appeared on his lips. “You know what, Captain? Since you’re so adamant on dealing with army stuff, why don’t you review those plans in my stead and personally check in with the hangar master?”

“Sir, my shift – “

The Admiral gave him a hard look. “ _After_ you finished your current shift, of course. I’m sure a man of your talents can manage a double shift.”

Face deadpan, Piett was mentally seething in anger.  
A double shift after the already short night caused by the mining uprising was just cruel. It would mean another twenty-four hours without sleep. On further notice, checking in with the hangar master to implement changes for battle exercises was normally a task done by the Army personnel, not a Navy officer. It would saddle Piett with even more work than he already had. The Admiral was deliberately punishing him. 

He tore his eyes from Ozzel’s far too smug face and shot the Army commander, who had watched the exchange in unusual silence, a look. There was no going back now.

“I will speak to the hangar master, Sir.” His voice was firm.

The Admiral only seemed amused. “You do so, Piett. Oh, and in case you’ll have second thoughts…” The smug smile was back. “Consider it an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those wonderful ppl who leave Kudos or Comments! You rock!


	3. Blood Type: Caffeine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dreaded double shift, Piett is ready to kill a man.

Twenty-four hours and another double shift later, Piett found himself stumbling towards the Officer's Lounge on weary legs. 

He needed caf and he needed it _now_. After so many hours of Ozzel flinging insults at him and dumping every possible bit of workload on him, he felt overly drained. Like his brain had melted. Or burst. Or both. Not to mention the following reviewing of the Army drills and the subsequent draining talk with the hangar master about the needed changes for the battle exercises.

The hangar master hadn’t been happy about the last-minute adjustments.  
Piett hadn’t been happy about the hangar master.  
Long story short: They had both been unhappy.  
In the end, they’d scowled at each other until they had found a solution acceptable for all parties concerned, which had taken a veeeery long time.

Shuffling through the corridor, Piett was positively sure he would soon break the thin line between _being absolutely tired_ to _going absolutely apeshit_ if he didn't get his caf on time.

Or punch Ozzel in the face. Or both.

As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with a huge stack of datapads on two legs, jerking back in surprise. The mountain of datapds skidded to a halt, the datapad on the top sliding dangerously close to the edge.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir!", the datapads cried. Piett blinked in confusion until a distinctly human head with deep brown, unruly hair, peeked around the pads, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Sir", Lieutenant Gavin Oon-Aii, first and only Aide-De-Camp to Lord Vader, repeated. "I'm afraid I can't really see people crossing my way at the moment."

Piett suspiciously glanced at the swinging mountain of plasisteel that the younger man balanced with tremendous effort in his arms. "Yes, it does certainly look like that", he said.  
The Captain arched an eyebrow. "I don't mean to pry, Lieutenant, but what on earth are you doing?" 

The datapads shifted a bit. "I was just about to deliver these to Lord Vader's office, Captain, Sir."

That definitely made Piett perk up. 

It wouldn't do to belay any of His Lordship's biddings. All orders from the Supreme Commander were best fulfilled as fast as possible if you liked to keep breathing and see another day. However, the poor boy was already staggering under the weight of the datapads, looking partly concentrated to keep them from falling and partly exhausted.

Sighing, Piett made a decision. Caf could wait for another four minutes. 

_Sleep is for the weak._

He carefully picked up the top stacks of the pads, relieving the Lieutenant of some of his burden, before gesturing with his head towards the lifts. "Do come on, Lieutenant, I don't have all day."

He was rewarded with a beaming smile. "Oh, thank you, Sir!", Oon-Aii noted, happily making his way over.

Piett couldn't help but smile fondly at the youths back. The young man was a miracle himself, always cheerful and high-spirited despite having to deal with Darth Vader on a regular basis. Respectful, well-mannered and with an eye for details, the Captain could see why people said Oon-Aii was the perfect aide. Even Lord Vader had to see something in the young man - after all, he was still alive.

He remembered his first meeting with the Lieutenant all too well. At first, everyone had wondered that Lord Vader had chosen an ADC. Not that the Supreme Commander didn't need one, as even the Sith Lord had plenty of paperwork to do, but it had been a shock to the crew to simply see Darth Vader bring - and tolerate- one himself.

He also vividly remembered how Lord Vader had summoned the top brass of his officers and, with a small wave of his hand, had ordered the unassuming (and at that time, quite pale and nervous) Lieutenant forward.  
The Dark Lord had simply boomed "This is Lieutenant Oon-Aii. He will serve as my personal aide aboard the Lady” and left it at that. Naturally, none of the officers had dared to question Lord Vader. And so, the new position of Aide-De-Camp to his Sithness, Lord Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, had been born.

When the lift went down, Piett eyed the man beside him in contemplation. As rumour had it, dozens of crewmates had tried to get the pleasant young Navy officer to spill the beans about how he’d come to be in their lordship’s employ, but to no avail.

The Captain, being of a curious nature himself, had also tried his luck, of course. 

However, every time the topic of conversation had veered dangerously close to Oon-Aii’s debut of career, the Lieutenant had gotten quite pale-faced and stared at him with such a haunted look in his eyes that Piett hadn’t had the heart to ask any further. 

Obviously, the young man still had to deal with some kind of Vader-induced trauma. That was something Piett could easily accept.

Torn out of his musing by a chime from the lift, Piett ordered his sluggish brain to once more give its attention to the present, moving out of the lift and towards Lord Vader’s office. 

At their destination, after a moment of fumbling for his code cylinder, Oon-Aii managed to get the doors to open, so they could enter the Lieutenant’s outer office, which was directly connected to Lord Vader’s business chambers by a small door. 

They quickly dumped their respective piles of datapads on the young man’s desk.  
The Lieutenant made a relieved huff. “Thank you again, Sir, for all your trouble. I don’t know if I would have managed on my own. How can I be of service in return?”

Piett just nodded tiredly. “Never mind, Lieutenant”, he said, giving the datapads one last hard look. “But before we go: What are these tons of data about?”

Oon-Aii simply shrugged, making a casual wave with his hand.  
“These? Oh well, you know…”, he answered nonchalantly, “…just some information about the _Skywalker incident_.”

Startled, Piett wiped around to stare at the young man. The search for the rebel pilot named Skywalker (who had blown up the Death Star, also known as the _Skywalker Incident_ ), was something Lord Vader was positively obsessed about. 

And an obsessed, short-tempered Sith Lord was nothing Piett wanted to – or could, in his sleep deprived state – deal with in the next few hours. It was a mystery to him how the Lieutenant could keep his usual sunshiny attitude in moments like these.

The Captain gave the other naval officer a searching look. “Don’t tell me you have to stay here and review all these”, he muttered, picking up two datapads at random after a moment of hesitation. When no complaints were forthcoming from the Lieutenant, Piett guessed his rank as Captain was probably high enough to warrant access to the data the lad had collected. As he was skimming the text, his eyebrows steadily wandered up.  
That was interesting. Quickly, he highlighted some of the text.

To his surprise, Oon-Aii answered his question in the negative, tearing him back to the presence. “Not to worry, Sir, I’m off duty for the time being. Lord Vader wants to review the information in person. He should be down momentarily.”

Right. Lord Vader. _Skywalker Incident_.  
As it was, Piett wouldn’t have made it to Captain if he didn’t know when it was time for a strategic retreat. He put the pads down again.

In a matter of minutes, he helped the Lieutenant arrange their dumped piles of datapads into one neat stack, placing the pads he had skimmed only moments ago on the top.

Time to leg it. Ushering the other man out of the room, he gave Oon-Aii a small smile. “Why don’t we just head to the Officer’s Lounge, young man?”, he suggested. “I’m in dire need of some caffeine.” He eyed the other officer. “And I’m sure you haven’t had any breakfast yet with all those tasks His Lordship wants you to do.”

The Lieutenant laughed. “You know what, Sir? As a thanks, paying for your caf is the least I can do.”


	4. Trouble's never far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the lounge, Piett finally gets his caf. Too bad he can never catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a bit earlier than usual because it's my birthday and I'll be busy with friends and family later.
> 
> Also a shout-out to Celebrithil who commented on every chapter so far! <3

Finally, in the Officer’s Lounge, Piett could feel the tension draining out of his body the moment Lieutenant Oon-Aii and himself stepped over the threshold.  
As it was morning, the heavenly smell of caf hung in the air, stirring his tired brain awake again at the sheer prospect of having a cup himself.

Against his hopes, the lounge was well-attended. Multiple officers had gathered in small groups to enjoy a shared breakfast and get the latest spills of the rumour mill.  
An attentive observer could note the seated groups had divided themselves either deliberately or subconsciously by their affiliated military ranks - as far as Piett noticed, the ground troops seemed to prefer the darker, wooden tables on the left as usual, while the fleet officers tended to stick to the glinting, metallic grey ones on the right.

In the middle of those informal territories, a few tables were occupied by a mix of Army and Navy officers, each chatting – amicably for once – with their respective counterparts.

Piett was just about to make his way to his favourite table on the “Navy side” of the lounge, when his gaze landed on the officers already sitting there. Admiral Ozzel and his entourage. The last persons he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Oon-Aii, having followed the Captain’s look with his own eyes, shifted uneasily at his side. The lad didn’t seem too keen to bear the Admiral’s company as well, but was be far too polite to ever utter a word of disregard about a superior officer in front of Piett. He would follow wherever the Captain would lead him to, regardless of an annoying Admiral or not. 

Luckily for both of them, Piett had no qualms about disregarding his superior officer.

Before any of Ozzel’s cronies could spot them, Piett abruptly veered to the right and headed for the only other table which was currently unoccupied. It was a nice spot, situated on the far-right side of the lounge, a bit secluded from the ongoings of the place, but near enough to the bar to get the bartender’s attention without too much effort. One also had a fairly good overlook over the lounge and – most important – was out of Ozzel’s direct line of sight.

As Piett let himself plop down onto the blueish cushions, he noticed a few of the Army members around them staring at them in a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. It was logical – the table they occupied was right in the middle of the “Army territory” of the lounge. 

Of course, Piett could have pulled rank and shooed out some junior officers on the “Navy side” of the lounge, but he wasn’t Ozzel, after all.

So, given the situation, he opted for sending a stern look the observers’ way, upon which they quickly reverted their gazes and went back to chattering with their tablemates. He was the Captain of the Lady, after all. He could sit at any free table if he damn well pleased, regardless about its whereabouts.

Across him, Lieutenant Oon-Aii was already waving to the waiter, who went straight up to them.  
“Two cafs, please. I’m paying.”

“How would you like your caf, Sir?”, the waiter turned to Piett, casting a sympathetic glance at Piett’s eyebags. “Navy strength?”

The Captain nodded in delight. “Yes, please. And the veggie omelet, Ho’Din style, with some extra hot chili and pepper. And for you, Lieutenant?”

Oon-Aii made a face. “Just the normal caf and some Dantooine cereal, please.” The young man shot Piett an apological look. “No offense, Sir, but your food could wake the dead.”

The Captain huffed. “You’re still young, Oon-Aii”, he answered in good humour. “Wait until you’re as old as me, you will need to gather your energy from wherever you can.”

Then, he glanced down at his uniform, rumpled after the long time on duty and forced himself on his legs again. “Excuse me for a moment, I need to freshen up a bit.”  
The lad nodded absently minded; nose already buried deep into the dessert menu. Fondly shaking his head at the youth, Piett went off to the fresher.

Minutes later, after a quick wash of his face and hands with cold water, he couldn’t help but stare into the mirror and contemplate his life choices again. It was all pros and cons. He _wanted_ to serve the Empire. He _wanted_ to be in the Imperial Navy, to be Captain of the mightiest ship the galaxy had ever seen.  
But on the other side, he _definitely_ didn’t want to serve under Lord Vader or – he grimaced – Admiral Ozzel. Sadly, you couldn’t do one without the other, so well, there was the dilemma.

Sighing, Piett towelled his hands off. What he wished for would have no effect on his current situation. After all, even as a high-ranking officer, he was only a tiny cog in the massive machinery of the Emperor’s reign. 

Shaking off the tiresome thoughts, Piett stepped out of the fresher to return to Oon-Aii and his – hopefully already served – food and drink. 

On his way back, he couldn’t help but have a bad feeling about leaving the young man on the Army side of the lounge on his own, despite knowing that no one would harm the boy in any way. Oon-Aii was Lord Vader’s personal aide, mind you, so nobody would dare lay a hand on him if they didn’t have an actual death wish.  
Furthermore, the Lieutenant was far too well liked by everyone to have actual enemies. 

But still.

When he returned to the lounge, the unease in his stomach increased. Even a few meters away from their occupied table, Piett could make out three hulks of definitely Army men standing around the seated Oon-Aii in not quite a threatening, but remarkable intimidating manner. Guessable from the rigid posture the lad had adopted, the Lieutenant felt quite the same. 

Cursing under his breath, Piett swiftly made his way over.

His arrival clearly startled the three, two of the Army officers even taking a quick step back from the table. Only the man in the middle, whom Piett could barely identify as one Major Covell, one of the chiefs of the AT-AT brigade, merely raised an eyebrow in question and gave him a nod.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”, Piett asked sharply.

The Major regarded him with interest, eyes flicking to his rank badge, then up to his face and down again. “Captain.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the other two officers who quickly scurried off, out of the line of fire. “We were just politely telling our Lieutenant here that he’s sitting at the General’s table. No hard feelings.”

Piett pointedly took his seat at said table again. “Oh, did, you?”, he remarked, dangerously polite. “I’m afraid there aren’t any name plates or reservations on this table, so it would take a hard guess to know where one is supposed to sit or not.” The Captain narrowed his eyes to slits, halfway expecting a confrontation.

To his surprise, the Major backed down at once. “My apologies, Sir.” Covell shot Lieutenant Oon-Aii a glance, before again turning to Piett, curiosity and faint amusement on his face.  
“The lad’s with you, Sir?”, he asked. His tone was light and polite, all hostility the man had exuded before Piett’s arrival gone under a mask of courteous manners.

The Captain nodded.

Covell’s eyes sparkled with something akin to fascination as he kept trying not to stare at Piett, but at the same time seizing him up, thus failing admirably. Piett couldn’t help but wonder about the man’s sudden change of moods.

When he had first seen him speaking to the Lieutenant, the Major had seemed quite unhappy to find a Navy officer sitting at obviously their General’s most appreciated spot of the lounge. Stars, he’d looked more than unhappy.  
But now, the Army man seemed actually quite delighted to see them, all good manners for whatever reason.

To add further to the mystery, Covell gave him an understanding nod as if Piett had just shared some vital piece of wisdom with the man. 

“If he’s with you, it’s alright, Sir”, the man promised. “You must excuse my men, they are quite tense about anything Navy-related in that part of the lounge, thanks to the Admiral. They’ll behave better next time, now that they know.”  
He gave Piett a serious nod. 

Beside him, Oon-Aii gave Piett a confused look, flabbergasted by the turn of events.

“Oh”, Covell suddenly exclaimed, “I forgot. If you would be so kind to wait here for a moment…”  
With a practiced gesture, the man pulled out his commlink. 

The unease in Piett’s stomach returned, eyes fixed on the smirking Major comming a number.

“General? I found him.”


	5. Enemy of my enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veers arrives, so Piett finally gets to meet Iron Max! They don't know what to think of each other, first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely support!  
> You can also find me on tumblr @the-ridiculous-blog. Feel free to scream at me or say hello! :)

The General’s arrival was easily heralded: All Army personnel was suddenly interested in the doorway. After a second, there was a quick shuffling to smooth down uniforms and a rapid change in the atmosphere to a more focused, more dutiful mood.

General Maximillian Veers, Commander of the Thundering Herd and the Imperial infantry troops of the Executor stood in the door. With a height of 1,93 meters, chiselled features, impeccable olive-green uniform and insanely broad shoulders, the man made for a truly impressive sight. 

“Terran”, a booming voice shouted over the ambient noise of the lounge, “I see you’ve found our man!”

Stars, the man was _loud_. What a set of lungs.

Piett winced when the call reached his ears, vividly remembering that one meeting where Ozzel and the General had shouted at each other. He’d left with ears ringing.  
Next to him, Major Covell waved the General over.

As a tactical officer to the core, Piett automatically analysed the reactions Veers’s troops made when they caught sight of their General. There were glances full of nervousness mixed with respect, dutiful nods, short salutations and looks of pure admiration as the man in question was making his way over to their table.  
Some of the men and women were even staring at the man with clearly starstruck eyes, adoration on their face.

The General himself gave his officers non-verbal responses of his own. A pat on someone’s shoulder, a small smile – Veers seemed to know his men quite well.

“Sir”, Covell greeted the newcomer curtly.

The General gave the Major an acknowledging nod. “Thanks for informing me, Terran.”  
He surveyed the scene with a practised glance.  
“It seems I need to remind our boys and girls that their eavesdropping skills still need much to be desired”, Veers said humorously, eying the table next to them, where two men and a woman were pathetically straining to appear as uninterested as possible. 

“At ease, everyone! And back to your business.”

At that, Veers also dismissed the Major with a flick of his hand, before he focused on Piett and Oon-Aii. “You’re occupying my favourite spot, gentlemen”, the Army officer observed, cocking his head and staring at them like a scientist would stare at an unexpected, but fairly inconvenient puzzle.

From his seated position, the Captain had to crane his neck to look the standing man in his eyes, but that didn’t stop him. He dealt with Vader and Ozzel on a daily basis, he should easily deal with this guy, too. “And a good day to you, General”, he drily answered, hiding his unease.

To Piett’s growing concern, the man’s piercing gaze found Oon-Aii who gave the General a nervous smile in return.   
“Sir”, the Lieutenant cautiously greeted.

The Army man regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Do be so kind and pop off, Lieutenant”, Veers suggested sternly, but not unkindly. “It’s time for the adults to have a talk.”

Quickly, Oon-Aii shot Piett a look. The Captain answered with a confirming nod. “It’s alright.”

The Lieutenant smiled briefly at him, then stood up and saluted to both of them. “Sirs.” And, after a short hesitation, he disappeared into the crowd. 

Huffing, Piett shot the General, who had plopped down on the chair Oon-Aii had occupied before in a matter of seconds, a dark look.

“That was quite rude.”

Amused, Veers gave Piett a look of his own. “Touchy, aren’t we, Captain?”

Piett shrugged, downing a good portion of his caf before replying. The caffeine seeped into his tired veins, lighting them up with newfound energy. “At least, in the Navy you learn the basics of etiquette”, he bit back.

“Says the Navy officer while disregarding a superior’s rank”, Veers huffed.

Piett grimaced. Veers was right – the General did technically outrank him, as he was only a Captain. But still.  
"May I remind you, General, that this ‘Navy officer’ is still Captain of the Executor. The very ship you are currently standing on", Piett said with an icy glare. "And in my capacity of Captain of this vessel, I _will_ make sure there's at least a decent amount of polite social interaction, regardless of their military affiliation or rank, _Sir_." _The same goes for mouthy Generals_ , went unspoken.

The General's eyes narrowed, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Oh, really?", he purred, voice low. "What do you want to do - throw me out of an airlock?"

"Accidents do happen, Sir."

Abruptly, Veers leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close to the Captain’s. The sudden movement took Piett by surprise, but he stood his ground, barely containing a flinch. Grey eyes stared at him, unyielding. The tiny primeval part of his brain screamed at him to watch his mouth, highlighting the way Veers’s muscles moved under the uniform and the way the man’s impressive frame towered over him, at least a head taller.

"Careful, sailor", the General growled, teeth bared. “You don’t want to ruin my good mood, do you?”

“The ‘sailor’ can still give you a tour of the airlocks”, Piett shot back, face carefully blank. He felt a bit lightheaded, maybe some aftereffect of his rapid intake of the Navy-strong caf. Or maybe his brain just didn’t care anymore and had decided to kriff it all.

Nevertheless, Piett regretted his cheeky remark the moment it left his caf-befuddled brain. So much for his self-preservation instinct, the Captain noted bitterly. The General’s hands had closed into fists, amusement draining from his face and being replaced with real, raw anger. 

For a moment, Piett feared he had overstepped. Mentally cursing himself, the Captain broke eye contact to stare ruefully at his food. Normally, remarks like this would bounce off him like worthless gossip, but after nearly 46 hours without sleep he guessed he had reached his limit. He really had to sleep more; he was acting like a prick. No wonder the Army thought the Navy officers were prats. And here he was, proofing them right. Unforgivable.

Shooting the General an embarrassed look, he coughed lightly. “Sorry about that”, he apologised, voice soft. “That was uncalled for, Sir. I meant no offense.”

Veers blinked. “What?”

Avoiding the other’s stare, Piett slowly traced the rim of his cup with his index finger. “I’m sorry”, he repeated, tired, before he fixed his gaze on the Army man again. “A minute ago, I told you about the necessity of being polite and now here I am, making an ass of myself.”

The General blinked again, clearly surprised. A tense minute went by.  
Then, suddenly, Veers relaxed and leaned back again. And - to Piett's surprise - barked a laugh.  
"You have balls, Captain, I like that!”, the General admitted with a twinkle in his eyes. Slowly, the man’s good mood returned.

“Truce?”  
“Truce.”

Thankful, Piett let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Recognising the banter for what it was, Veers made a dismissive gesture. “No offense taken”, he assured. “I started the whole mess, so I guess your response was fair. I’m glad at least someone in the Navy can stand up for themselves.” The man measured him with another inquiring look, taking in Piett’s eyebags and the small crinkles in his uniform.

“My, you look a lot smaller than I remember”, the General continued.  
“Oy!!“  
“And a lot more exhausted.”

The Captain only shrugged in answer, gloomily impaling some of his food and staring at it. He knew he looked beat, but he didn’t need a reminder of that, thank you very much. He also didn’t need some more witty remarks about his sorry state. Irritated, he stuffed the food into his mouth and swallowed.  
Incidentally, he noticed the waiter reappear and set down a glass at Veers’s side. He didn’t comment on it.

They ate and drank in silence for a while.

After some time, when no more smart remarks from the General were forthcoming, Piett focused his eyes on the General again.  
To his surprise, the man was watching him eat intently, studying him with interest.  
“You’re that Navy shrimp Ozzel hates guts, right?”, Veers broke the silcence.

Startled, Piett nearly dropped the fork he was holding.  
“I beg your pardon?!”

“Just citing Commander Khartov, Captain.” At least, Veers had the decency to look slightly abashed.  
Piett only glared at him.

Noticing the pause, Veers fidgeted a bit. “The Commander told me of your intervention on behalf of the Army”, he continued, grey eyes shifting to the side. The intimidating man suddenly didn’t seem that intimidating anymore. “Well, you know, uh – word went round.”  
Was that…?

The Captain had to mentally shake himself out of his stupor. Had the General just indirectly, in his own twisted way, admitted to being grateful? He blinked.  
“I was just doing my duty, Sir.”

Veers just rolled his eyes at that, glancing at the Navy side of the lounge before looking back at him again.  
“I know, I know. But, to be honest, you saved us all a lot of trouble. It would have taken us months to set up another exercise like the one we performed today.” 

The General went on: “Hangar master Riggs told me you saw about all the hangar changes yourself, didn’t you?” 

When Piett stayed stubbornly silent, Veers sighed, lowering his voice. “I know Ozzel’s punishing you because you intervened on my behalf. To be honest, my nerves would be running thin, too, if I was on, like, five hours of sleep, not to mention dealing with an irritated Riggs. The man can be insufferable.”  
The steel in Veers’s eyes returned at Ozzel’s name, hard and unforgiving. There was really no love lost between the Admiral and the General. 

“Anyway”, Veers continued, “I just wanted to tell you I appreciate the gesture, Captain.”  
In an act of mock dramatics, he put a hand over his heart, nodding solemnly and winking at him. _Stars._ “And you know the saying – the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So, if you need any help with Ozzel – “

Piett couldn’t help but let out a guffaw. “I can quite look after myself, General, trust me.”

Veers shot him a dubious look. “Oh, indeed?”

Eyes full of mirth, Piett grinned. Time to show some good will by sharing the news.  
“Yes, indeed.” At Veers’s unimpressed face, he added: “Maybe not in matters of sleep. But -”, he said deviously, “- I believe our dear Admiral will have a most uncomfortable meeting in a few moments.”

As if on cue, a pale-faced Ozzel came into their line of sight, holding his commlink and heading with panicked steps to the exit of the lounge, a number of confused and frightened Navy officers hot on his heels, hastily typing away on their datapads.

They both watched Ozzel and his cronies depart in silence.

When the officers were gone, Veers turned to Piett with narrowed eyes.  
“ _What_ did you do?”, the man asked warily.

Content, Piett cocked his head. “Well,”, he answered, “before my visit to the lounge, I happened to help Lieutenant Oon-Aii carry some important datapads concerning the _Skywalker Incident_ to His Lordship’s quarters. And, as luck might have it – “

“Yes?”

“- as luck might have it, I found some juicy report of the Department of Analytics on one of the pads, regarding Ozzel’s missing enthusiasm in terms of sending the fleet to gather information about Skywalker.”

“Oh.” Veers whistled. “But what about the Admiral’s sudden departure?”

Piett’s grin widened.  
“Lord Vader is reviewing those datapads _personally_. And I _may_ have highlighted and put the pad with the information about Ozzel right on top of the other pads to be reviewed first. In the next few minutes, the Admiral will probably have a nice chat with the Supreme Commander about his failures.”

At first, the General only stared at him, dumbfounded. Then, his whole face lit up in delight.  
Barking another laugh, Veers eyed the Captain with newfound respect. “Oh my, you’re a sly one. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Piett hesitantly smiled at the man. “The same goes for you, Sir.”

Veers retuned the smile, then held out a hand for Piett to shake.  
“Let’s try again. General Maximillian Veers. Call me Max.”

Clasping the man’s hand with a firm grip, the Captain shook it in earnest.  
“Captain Firmus Piett.”

It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.


	6. Sly Small Sailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change of the POV: Veers reflects on his meeting with Piett.

The two weeks after their initial lounge meeting went by in a blur.  
Rebels were active, uprisings occurred, pirates threatened trade routes and opposing forces were demolished. To everyone’s growing apprehension, none of the events happening helped them to find even a trace of that Skywalker pilot. Regrettably, it also set their Dark Lord on edge, souring Lord Vader’s normally dark mood even more, frustration and anger radiating from the man in waves almost tangible.

Naturally, this caused the whole crew of the Executor to be on high alert, especially the bridge personnel.  
Apparently, the Sith Lord had taken to unexpectedly turn up on the bridge, stand at the viewport and brood for a while, then vanish again like a dark spectre of death. Unfortunately, their Lord’s unforeseeable behaviour also led to upset most of the working men, who in result made blunders out of sheer fright because Darth Vader was suddenly standing behind them, which in return caused the _death by de.b.t.s._ -rate to spike at an alarming rate.  
Rumours even had it that half of the bridge crew was seriously contemplating suicide by now.

With half an ear listening to the chief engineer pointing out the damage his AT-AT sustained in the last battle, Veers couldn’t help but be a bit concerned about his newest Navy acquaintance.  
Meeting the man face to face had been a pleasant surprise. The small Captain had skilfully perfected the image of the harmless, unassuming officer, only to strike back with startling wit when time was right. Ironically, the man had turned out to be a lot tougher than he seemed, mastering the art of avoiding Lord Vader’s wrath while also getting things done with remarkable competence. He also seemed quite capable, in opposition to Ozzel’s usual bootlickers, and to be able to hold his drink. 

Veers had found out the last bit through painful experience. Firmus Piett and him had reached an alliance of sorts, which consisted of sharing the newest gossip on both Army and Navy side and talking shit about Ozzel. Said meetings usually took place in the evening in the Officer’s Lounge, drink in hand.  
And boy, that sailor could drink. 

The General wasn’t quite sure where the Captain stored such amounts of alcohol in his lithe body, but he supposed the man was just used to simply sustain himself on caf, spicy food and alcohol alone.  
After a few meetups, Veers hadn’t been able to deny that Piett was a good, honest man, Navy or not. So, he had begrudgingly admitted to himself that he liked the new Captain. Firmus Piett had obviously reached that conclusion about Veers as well, as their evenings had shifted from _dutiful alliance_ to _friendly companionship_ within one and a half week.

Losing the man to one of Lord Vader’s rages now would be a shame.

A poke to his ribs startled the General back to the presence, which found the chief engineer staring at him sourly. “Would you mind?”, a female voice scolded him.

“Do go on, I’m listening”, he quickly assured.

Chief engineer Ellinger snorted, throwing back her curly red hair in a gesture of annoyance.  
“Sure, boss. And my mother’s a hutt.”

“Alright, alright”, Veers admitted defeat. “So, about the leg. You were saying?”

“As I was saying – which you would have known, if would you have just listened to me for one damn second, Sir – that Blizzard One’s left hind leg has suffered a major malfunction in the hydraulic attenuation in the third quadrant of the shock-absorbing generator, so the recoil impulse is way too high for the rest of the machinery to catch up.”

“So, in easy words: It’s a pice of junk.”  
“Absolute junk, Sir.”  
“How wonderful.”

With a sigh, he contemplated the offending non-functional hind leg, staring at the malfunctioning component as if his sheer glare could bring it to function properly. It didn’t work, of course.

He turned to Ellinger again, whose annoyance at the dysfunctional leg was clearly visible on her face. Just as he was about to discuss further procedures for the repair, his commlink beeped loudly.

Grumbling, he switched it on. “General Veers.”

“Station control here, Sir”, a male voice chattered. “Patrol says there’s one Navy officer looking for you.”

A small smile flashed over the General’s lips.  
“Let me guess: Small stature, pale skin, looks like he hasn’t slept for a week?”

“Affirmative, Sir! Oh – patrol says it’s the Captain, Sir. Shall I direct him right to you?”, the voice exclaimed.

Although it couldn’t be seen via commlink, Veers found himself nodding in agreement nonetheless.  
“Yes, please. We’re in bay 26, with the AT-Ats.”

A confirming hum was the answer. “Will do so, Sir. One tiny sailor coming right up!”

Behind him, he could hear Ellinger stifle a laugh at the last sentence. Sighing loudly, he shot the chief engineer a resigned look over his shoulder, before turning to the commlink again to reprimand the other. “Language, soldier”, he scolded, but without much heat.

The commlink crackled for a second before the voice was back, not sounding very sorry at all. “Sorry, Sir!”

Snorting, Veers left it at that. He knew his men didn’t mean any disrespect to Piett. Word about the Captain’s intervention on behalf of the Army had spread like a wildfire among the Army troops; many of the troopers “adopting” the small Navy man on the spot.  
Unfortunately, some of his soldiers had also overheard him calling the Captain a _tiny sailor_ in good humour when they’d been five drinks deep into their usual banter. Obviously, his troops had jumped at the opportunity to get a call-sign for the Army’s newest ‘honorary member’ and well, the nickname had stuck so far. 

Not that he would ever mention that to the Captain’s face. Piett would jump him, probably. 

He was just about to tell Ellinger to behave herself when the Captain’s frame entered his field of view, heading straight towards them. The man looked exhausted as usual, dark circles under his eyes, but walked with speed and confidence, carrying a datapad under his arm. 

“Firmus!”, Veers greeted amicably. “What’s my favourite Captain of the Executor doing here?”  
Said man only rolled his eyes in response. “I’m the only official Captain of the Lady, General.”  
“Exactly!” The General gave him his best shit-eating grin. He just received a miffed look.  
“What’s with that sour face?”, Veers asked, curious.

“You missed the Admiral’s weekly debrief for our joined forces”, the Captain rebuked him. “I don’t have to tell you that Ozzel was not amused, do I?”

Veers shrugged. “I was excused, was I not? Even send a proxy. Repairs can’t wait if we’re heading for the next Rebel cell over at D’Quar. By the way: How’s Ozzel? Haven’t seen the man in a while.”

Piett shrugged. “Still breathing. His throat seems to have mostly recovered.”

“A pity.”

“Don’t change the subject, Max. You sent Major Covell as your replacement. Covell!”, Piett wailed, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

Pouting, the General crossed his arms. “What of him? He’s a good man.”

Clearly exasperated, Piett only shook his head. “He may be a good soldier, but you can’t just send the man into meetings like that. Do you know what he did? He waltzed in, four minutes late, grunted “General’s busy” and slumped into his chair. Just like that! No further explanations. That could have meant anything!”

“Well,”, Veers huffed sulkily, “I’m sure he still did a good job.”

Piett looked him dead in the eye. “That man has the attention span of a goldfish, Max. A goldfish. One time during the meeting I even caught him counting the tiles on the ceiling”, the Captain explained. 

“I guess he was bored. No wonder when Ozzel was talking."

“Oh, do tell”, Piett muttered. “General, that meeting was important. Lord Vader has decided on a new strategy to find Skywalker.”

Interested, the General perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, really”, Piett affirmed, motioning to the datapad under his left arm. “We’ll use probe droids. I’ve decided to bring you up to speed as your Major didn’t seem overly interested in the details.”

Veers eyed the Navy officer in contemplation before he swept an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and gently stirred him along, away from prying eyes and a gleefully watching Ellinger. “Don’t tell me you came all the way down here to just keep me informed, Firmus”, he quietly murmured, smirking. “You could have just told me at our next lounge meeting. Nevertheless, I am flattered.”

Under his arm, he could feel the Captain’s posture grow rigid, a worn expression appearing on the man’s usually composed face. Concerned, Veers quickly loosened his hold to step around the Navy officer and scan the man for injuries. Or maybe Piett was one of those socially awkward Navy guys that didn’t like physical contact? After two weeks, there still was much that he didn’t know about his colleague.  
“Firmus, are you alright?”

Sighing, Piett waved him off, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine”, he muttered. 

“Don’t bullshit me, man. You don’t look _fine_.”

Piett sighed again, deeper this time. “I know, I know. It’s just… he’s in a real mood today.” There was no need to explain who _he_ was.

Sympathetic, Veers winced. “Anyone I know?”  
He only received a blank stare in return. “Fine, fine,”, he relented, “you don’t have to talk about it.”

“I’d rather not”, the Captain admitted.

Humming in thought, the General decided to direct the conversation to matters Piett would be more comfortable with.  
All at once, the General had an idea to cheer up his newest Navy acquaintance. Gesturing to the AT-AT at their side, he spun around to pull Piett over to the impressive machinery, a grin plastered to his face. The Captain didn’t tense under his hand this time, so he guessed physical contact was fine.

“Behold”, he declared with a dramatic gesture, “the finest and deadliest armoured transport vehicle ever know to the Imperial military.”

“Which you invented. I read the files.”  
“Which I invented.”

Lips quirking up, his colleague shot him a quick glance, before obediently turning his attention to Blizzard One. “I do know what an AT-AT is, Max”, he assured, but seemed grateful for the change of topic. 

The General snorted, decided on giving his Navy friend an impromptu lesson about his beloved machines.  
“Oh? And do you know that the Imperial AT-AT is armed with two heavy laser cannon turrets, four anti-personnel blasters, and a dorsal twin laser turret at the rear? Which allocate into precisely two dual Piperii-Cerlurn R-90C medium blasters located on the sides and a pair of heavier Taim & Bak MS-1 heavy blaster cannons fitted on the front?”

“Well, no”, Piett answered hesitantly, gesturing to the pad under his arm, “but we still have to talk about the - “  
  
“No? I thought so.”

Before the Captain could start about that stupid strategy again, the General continued the ‘tour’ for some minutes, explaining the various benefits of his All Terrain-Armored Transport while Piett – who had obviously given up on talking about the damn meeting – listened patiently. Just as he was about to tell the Navy man how many soldiers could fit into the machine, Piett raised his hand in question.

“Yes?”, Veers asked, arms akimbo.

“Excuse my humble interruption of your knowledge about Army machinery- “, the Captain said, gingerly touching the surface of the AT-AT, eyes focused on something to the side, “- but is that left hind leg supposed to fume like that?”

Surprised, the General followed Piett’s line of sight, only to see flames engulf the cursed damaged leg. 

A few paces behind them, Veers could see Ellering forming an indignant ‘O’ with her mouth, before storming off to get a fire extinguisher. 

Groaning, Veers facepalmed, then eyed the now definitely mischievous Captain with a sigh. _Son of a hutt._  
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed more and more people rushing in to get the fire under control.

“We could continue our debrief in my quarters”, Piett suggested innocently, datapad suddenly in hand, ready for action. The very picture of a prim, proper officer. “I still have to tell you about the new strategy.” That sly fox.

Defeated, Veers gave the officer, who was already heading to the hangar exit, a resigned salute.  
“If you insist… So, what was that about probe droids?”


	7. To Wine And Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piett debriefs Veers. They drink a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not posting sooner, but my mother underwent surgery (nothing serious, luckily) and now I'm like a babysitter for a full-grown adult because she can't walk anywhere and needs a lot of help. I hope I'll be able to keep up with updating once a week, but that will depend on her recovery. Wish us luck! Thank you!

_Captain Firmus Piett’s quarters, three hours later, evening_

“… and that’s where the probe droids come in”, Piett concluded. He’d given the none too happy General an accurate explanation of his missed meeting, not leaving out even the tiniest details. 

He also deliberately ignored the way Veers had switched from glaring at him to sending him long-suffering looks. The Captain knew his colleague was a man of action and despised formal meetings the way most Army personnel did, but he’d rather wander through the seven Axxilian hells naked than leave his friend uninformed. Information was key, especially if it concerned Lord Vader’s plans. Therefore, Veers could shoot him as many suffering, puppy-eyed glances as he liked – he would only let the man leave when he’d felt that his Army friend fully comprehended the whole mess, as it was for his own best. 

“Max. Max! Are you even listening to me?” 

“Hmn?” Absorbed in thought, the General was brought back to the present by Piett’s question. Quickly, the man gathered his wits, nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes, of course”, he muttered. “In short: Use the fleet to swarm out and release as much probe droids as possible to look for the rebels.” 

“Exactly.” 

“So, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack”, the Army officer grumbled, reaching for his wine glass again. The red liquid sloshed invitingly. Piett had opened the bottle to sweeten Veers’s misery about the debrief a bit; the General had begrudgingly, but gratefully accepted the bribery. 

In thought, Piett glanced at his own glass. They had already finished another wine bottle, the empty bottle lying on the floor next to him and they were going rather quickly through its successor. Sighing, the Captain also took his glass in hand, draining the remaining content in one go. 

“I know, it sounds crazy. But we’ll have thousands of probe droids searching the galaxy for any rebel activities, so there really may be a slight chance for us to encounter some.” 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Veers snorted. “And who will inform Lord Vader of those findings? I don’t know about you, but to me it looks like the perfect way to get yourself strangled”, the General grumbled. “Just imagine, you’d tell him we found the rebels, only to backtrack later because the scanners just picked up a smuggler settlement, or whatever.” 

Biting his lip, Piett nodded. That was a scenario he himself was very aware of. The Captain only shrugged in answer.  
“That would indeed be… unfortunate.”  
“Unfortunate? Hah!”, Veers bellowed. 

Sighing, Piett refilled his glass. He could already feel a headache forming in his head even thinking about such a situation. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Both, probably. 

Irritated, he squinted at the way too harsh light of his own quarters. “Dim lights 60 percent!”, he shouted at the ceiling. 

Veers hummed in appreciation when the lights went down, illuminating the room in a warm, cozy glow. The General reached for the wine again, dumping the rest of the alcohol in his own glass. As the man leaned forward, Piett couldn’t help but notice how soft his chiselled features looked in the diffused light of the lamps. What a harsh contrast to the image of _Iron Max_ , the unyielding soldier. 

He was torn out of musings by Veers who shook the now empty bottle in disappointment, then shot an accusing glance at him. 

“You drank all the wine, Firmus”, Veers huffed.  
“ _We_ drank all the wine, you oaf”, Piett corrected. Well, on second thought, maybe he drank a few more glasses than his colleague. But screw that. He’d had a hard day. 

Admitting defeat, the Captain stood and wandered over to his predecessor’s – now his - alcohol supply, hidden under the closet, and fetched a new bottle. Which he placed pointedly right in front of Veers, before sitting down again. 

Said man only nodded in appreciation, then studied the label on the front.  
“Ithorian rum? Stars, Piett, are you trying to poison us?” 

“It’s still drinkable, as far as I know.” 

“Huh”, was the only comment the General made in return, regarding the alcohol somewhat sceptically. Without batting an eye, Piett opened the bottle and filled their glasses again. Just as he was about to propose a toast, his door bell chimed. 

Simultaneously, both officers looked at each other. Puzzled, the Captain answered Veers’s inquiring gaze with a shake of his head. No, he was _not_ expecting someone at this late hour. But whatever it was, it was probably important enough to disturb him in his time off duty. 

Quickly tapping a panel at his side, he opened the door, which admitted the person outside. To his surprise, it was no other than Venka. 

“Captain”, the First Lieutenant said, swiftly making his way inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there has been another…” Stopping mid-sentence, Venka halted abruptly, staring first at Veers, then at Piett, then back at Veers again, eyes wide. 

“…incident”, Venka finished lamely. The man looked rather unwell of a sudden. 

Puzzled, Piett watched his second in command shift uncomfortably closer to the door, hands raised in apology.  
“I - I’m really sorry, Sir!”, the man stammered, blushing furiously. 

Beside him, Piett could hear Veers bark a laugh. 

“What?”, he asked, dumbfounded.  
At the same time, the General purred: “Oh, don’t be shy.” A flash of teeth. 

Belatedly, the Captain realised what the situation had to look like for an outsider. Veers and him had both taken off their hats and uniform jackets, leaving them in only their shirts and trousers. The lights were dimmed in an almost romantic manner. Empty wine bottles were on the table. They were sitting rather close. And it was long past the normal time for their usual meetings. 

Spluttering, he jumped up. “It’s not what it looks like, Tom!” In the chair beneath him, Veers was roaring with laughter. 

Venka, who looked like he might faint any second, stopped his pathetic attempt at escape.  
“It’s… I’m not intruding, then?”, the man asked timidly. 

Pouting, Piett shot the still giggling Veers a glare. “No, you’re not. The General’s here purely on business.” 

“Oh.” Venka relaxed. “I’m sorry, Captain, it was really dumb of me to assume…” 

The Captain snorted, then waved Venka to come closer and sit down with them. Veers, who had gotten himself under control again, observed the Navy man with watchful eyes, amusement written all over his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Venka.” 

“I could say the same of you, General.” Colour back in his face again, the officer got his composure back rather quickly. 

Piett poured him a glass as well. The man looked like he needed it. “What happened?”, he asked, concerned. “Another death?” 

Sighing, Venka nodded. “Lieutenant Warren. Just transferred one week ago. Lord Vader strangled him.” 

Tonelessly, the Captain grabbed his drink. Another letter of condolence for him to write in the morning. He grimaced. 

“To the deceased”, he intoned, raising his glass. Veers and Venka followed his lead, repeating the gesture. Afterwards, they downed their drinks in one gulp. The pure grog burned in his throat. 

Next to him, Veers coughed. 

Suddenly tired again, Piett put his head in his hands. Veers looked at him in sympathy, before pouring them another round. “He’s really chewing through them, huh?”, his friend asked, voice subdued. 

Behind his hands, the Captain groaned. 

"Shame we cannot ask Lord Vader to refrain from harming our crew members as to create a stable, positive working environment”, Venka muttered. “You know, a workplace that promotes employee safety, growth and goal attainment. With environments that are most conducive to a successful workforce as they encourage employees to perform to their highest ability”. 

Simultaneously, two pairs of eyes turned to stare at the man. 

“Tom”, Piett said hoarsely.  
“Yes, Captain?”  
“Shut it.”  
“Sorry”, the First Lieutenant mumbled. 

Across him, the Captain watched Veers pull put his commlink and send a message in silence. Upon his questioning gaze, the General rewarded him with a crooked smile. “I’m just organizing some divertissement to take you mind off things, Army style”, Veers explained.  
In passing, Piett thought he should probably be concerned. After all, Veers didn’t do anything by halves. 

They managed two more rounds of rum before the doorbell chimed again, this time admitting another familiar face. 

_Oh no._

“Good evening, Gentlemen, Sir!”, Commander Khartov boomed, a huge crate of beer in his hands.  
“Alright, you miserable bunch! Who in here knows how to play Sabacc?” 


	8. A Drunk Tonugue Is An Honest One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are getting drunk, wohooo. Also, feels.

Well into the night, Iron Max found his mood to be improved by far. _That’s what alcohol and good company will do to you_ , Veers thought, satisfied. Khartov hadn’t disappointed, as usual. The soldier was not only one bear of a man, he was also quite good at making people drown their worries in alcohol.

Bemused, the General watched Venka’s head loll from side to side, fast asleep. They had been playing and drinking for about two hours when the First Lieutenant had started to drift off, which the Commander had commented with a simple “Lightweight” and rolled his eyes.

Blinking, Veers tried to focus on his cards again. Admittedly, the rum was also taking its toll on him, making his brain feel fuzzy and empty. Groggily, he watched Piett trying to grasp a card with a shaking hand to no avail. The small Navy man had kept up with them for quite some time, but now he had no chance. It was two against one. And if there was one thing the General’s muddled brain recalled, it was that you couldn’t outdrink the Army.

Beside him, Khartov downed another shot. The man seemed far too alert for someone probably this close to alcohol poisoning.

Across Veers, the Captain had stopped to claw at the fallen card in frustration, looking every bit as inebriated as he should be. The General knew his Navy friend had a high alcohol tolerance, but there was only so much his lean body could take. It was easy to see Piett was desperately trying to stay awake.  
Two second later, Piett’s head hit the table with a thud.

“So”, Veers grunted. He had to move his head to face the now slumped Navy officer, which sent his world spinning. He quickly gripped the table with his left hand to keep himself upright.  
“Do you.. do you.. accept defeat, Captain?”

A high-pitched noise.

“…I’ll take that as a Yes.” Slowly, Veers turned to the Commander who was happily poking the unconscious Venka in the ribs. “Khartov!”

“Hm?” The man in question spared him a side-glance, then continued to ruffle Venka’s hair in an almost cheeky manner. The First Lieutenant snored softly.

“Stop that. Get… see the man home, will you?”

Disappointed, Khartov halted his attempts to further muss up the officer’s now utterly destroyed hairstyle. “Aye, Sir. You’ll take care of our Captain?”

Veers managed a careful nod. He watched the Commander stand and effortlessly flick the still sleeping Venka over his shoulder, then give him and the Captain a small salute. “Good night, Sirs.”

A small sound rang out from the table.

Amused, Veers turned from the leaving Commander to his Navy friend still lying on the desk. Two hazel eyes tried to focus on him.

“Come on, sailor”, he muttered softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As it turned out, that was easier said than done. When Veers stood, he immediately got dizzy. The world became a blur. Huh. Blinking wildly, the General tried to supress the upcoming nausea. One step at a time. His vision swam for a moment, then cleared again.

Annoyed, the General planted both of his arms on the table to support himself, then tried again. Step, step. He slowly managed to make his way over to the barely conscious Captain.

He shook Piett’s shoulder carefully. “Come on, wakey, wakey! Don’t fall asleep on me, Firmus.”  
The slumped form on the table didn’t respond.

“Firmus Piett!”

A whine. 

Well, not dead, then. Grinning a bit, Veers did his best to hoist the drunk Captain upwards. He grunted. Normally he could easily lift a man onto his shoulders, but the alcohol kind of limited his motoric control, making it hard to get a good grip on the Navy man. So, he opted for slinging Piett’s left arm over his shoulders and bringing the officer to his side to support the Captain’s weight.  
“Come on, Firmus.”

The whine turned into a questioning tone.

“I’m… trying to get you into bed, you dummy.” They staggered a few steps forward. Veers swayed a bit, then hastily regained his footing. They continued their way, slowly, but steadily. “A little help would be nice”, he panted, dragging on the sleepy Captain.

The General received no answer. Great. The Army to the rescue, then, as usual.

Collecting his strength for the last time, Veers determinedly marched forward, pulling the now unconscious Piett with him. The man snored softly into his right ear.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Veers felt positively exhausted himself.  
Grunting, he unceremoniously dumped the slumped mess of a Captain onto the bed. The movement brought him out of balance, sending the world spinning again. He crashed onto the bed, barely avoiding the sleeping man.

_Get a grip, Max_ , he scolded himself, annoyed at his state. Carefully, he rolled on his side to look at Piett.

Even asleep, the Captain’s face was lined with exhaustion, brows furrowed together. Tentatively, Veers reached out a hand to brush the small blonde strands of hair that had fallen right onto Piett’s face back again. The Captain sighed in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into the soft mattress. 

Fascinated, the General watched the Captain’s face relax with every sleeping breath. It made him look younger, softer – more like a human being, not like the working machine the man so often seemed to be.

Veers couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight of the officer. Although they had only known each other for two weeks, he had to admit he already regarded Piett as a friend. Almost a dear friend. The man was the best thing that could have happened to the Navy, the Executor and her crew. And to the Army, too. He was sure Piett didn’t know it, but the small Captain had won his troops already over with his actions. They would die for their Captain.

The Army was his. But most important, Piett was _theirs_ as well.

Carefully, Veers retracted his hand, eyes still on the sleeping form. They would watch out for their tiny sailor, no matter what. Even if they had to break bones. 

Or well, help the man drown his worries in alcohol.

Slowly, as not to disturb the sleeping man, the General tucked the officer’s upper half into the covers, then got up again. After some struggle, he quickly removed Piett’s military boots and placed them at the side of the bed. The man snored softly. 

He would sleep on the couch in Piett’s front room. It simply wouldn’t do to leave the man alone in his state, let alone leave the quarters and be seen by some curious crewmen. Rumours would spread like a wildfire and damage both his and the Captain’s reputation. 

As he turned to leave the room, a small noise made him turn his head back to Piett again.  
The Captain’s eyes were open, unfocused, bleary gaze staring at his behind.  
“Max”, the man rasped, but otherwise didn’t move one bit.

“Firmus”, Veers said, hushed. “Go to sleep.”

The hazel eyes lingered. The Navy man looked only half awake, with the typical gaze of someone totally wasted. The officer wouldn’t remember one bit the next day, the General was sure of it. 

Amused, Veers followed the man’s line of sight.  
“Are you staring at my ass?”

The small mass on the bed hummed softly. “It’s a nice ass, Max.”

Snorting, Veers shook his head at his drunk colleague. The man was totally plastered. He gleefully imagined the time Piett would be sober again – he would tell the Captain all the embarrassing things he had said with delight.

“The man with the nice ass needs some sleep. Good night, Firmus.”  
“Good night, Max.”

Before Veers could even close the door, the Captain was fast asleep once more.


End file.
